


To the Past, For the Future

by hugo83



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugo83/pseuds/hugo83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Cedric and Viktor get dragged to Little Hangleton where they narrowly miss death thanks to the accidental apparition by the Quidditch Star. Cedric finds it difficult to trust Viktor, however, as he thinks the other is a Death Eater. It's an accusation that's not to be taken lightly, and Viktor naturally hates the younger man for being ungrateful. But, stuck in a cabin high up in the mountains, they soon learn that, most of the time, there's more to people than meets the eye.</p>
<p>This is my first fic! Comments and reviews are very much welcome :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Battle at Little Hangleton

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also available on fanfiction.net. I update both accounts at the same time, it's just that I like the format of ao3 much better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Triwizard Tournament takes a nasty turn as the Cup apparates Cedric, Viktor and Harry to a desolate graveyard. Harry makes it out alive, but will Viktor and Cedric?

 

* * *

Cedric’s ears rang as bang after bang shook the mangled gargoyle he was hiding behind. Dust choked him and made his eyes well with tears. His heart was in his throat. Blood poured down his elbows to his hands. _Is this the end?_

The night had taken a bizarre and terrible turn. The Triwizard Tournament have had its fair share of danger in its long history. More than a few have already died in its challenges. And so when he joined he had expected the worst and came prepared. But abduction, and the Dark Lord’s return? _This is all too much._

He was so close to claiming the victory, to finally ending the most challenging year he had gone through at Hogwarts. The Cup had stood on its pedestal, glittering and ringing faintly in the darkness of the maze. Harry and he had struck a deal. _A Hogwarts victory._ They had been walking towards it when Viktor stumbled from the hedges. Eyes glazed and expressionless, he had heaved himself against Cedric like a bull. Harry had tried to pull away the bigger boy who pinned him to the ground. And somehow, in the confusion of the jumble of bodies wrestling on the damp ground, Cedric had reached for the Cup.

Then there was nothing, except a hunched, mousy man on a top of a hill, a voice, a wand pointed at him, and a flash of bright green light.

Yet he lived.

_It should have hit me. In my chest._ But a different force had taken him, like a heavy fist slamming into his side, sending him tumbling down the rocky slope before the Killing Curse got him.

He had hoped that everything was just a particularly nasty dream, that somehow he was still in bed, sleeping until the day breaks, warm and bright. The thought afforded no lengthy refuge; the sting of the cuts and bruises all over his body felt much too real.

And now he was here, crouched low behind the remnants of a gravestone as curse after curse rained down on him from three Death Eaters. There was a resounding crack and the gargoyle’s heavy head came crashing towards him. Leaping in time before the stone exploded on the ground, he sent a countercurse that hit a Death Eater squarely on his face. The mask he was wearing cracked and fell as he flew backwards, leaving him staring wide-eyed at the starless sky.

_Harry. Where is Harry?_

A great sphere of light erupted from the hilltop, enveloping the hooded men in a swathe of brightness. Slowly, it crept down the hill like a blanket of thick fog early in the morning. The ethereal light looked like mist, except it was _alive_ with swirling white and silver. The Death Eaters descending stopped and looked back at the display, distracted and confused. Hollowed echoes reverberated across the hill. They made the hairs on his arms rise, yet he found the voices strangely comforting.

_Ghosts?_ A hand gripped his arm and he almost screamed. It was Viktor.

“Ve need to go.”

Rivulets of blood gushed down across Viktor’s forehead. His lips bled, his left eye swollen almost shut. A deep valley of wound ran down from his ear to his neck. The shoulder of the maroon sweater he wore was torn open, exposing the pale skin underneath. Yet amidst the wreck that was his body and the terrible pain, as Cedric imagined he must be going through right now, determination still burned fiercely in his eyes. There was a severity in his look, punctuated by his slim, sharp nose and piercing eyes. His square jaw seemed perpetually clenched, giving him a sort of constipated look that made him look unapproachable and intimidating.

Cedric had always thought of Viktor as a falcon, brooding and solemn. But now he just looked downright scary to him. _What is this man?_

He had almost forgotten what happened in the maze. But now he remembered it clearly. With wide eyes, Viktor found himself staring at the dangerous end of Cedric’s wand. “I was right in being wary of you.”

His gaze darted from Cedric to the wand pointed at his chest. “Ve do not have time for this. Ve need to leave before they remember that ve are still alive.”

“You brought us here. Why should I trust you?”

“I vos not aware--”

“You attacked me. Twice. Even used the unforgivable spell." He remembered the excruciating pain that had snaked through every inch of him, how Viktor had watched with emotionless eyes as he lie squirming on the ground. "You probably would have killed me had Harry not stepped in."

“You don’t understand.”

Yet suddenly it was clear to him. _No, it’s not me they need. It’s Harry. That’s why he’s there gazing at the Dark Lord himself while I’m here running away from his Death Eaters. Viktor had tried to deliver Harry--and only Harry--to the Cup...too bad for him that we both got into the mix._ “You’re in league with the Death Eaters,” he murmured.

Viktor gritted his teeth. Anger flared in him as his jaw clenched and his lips curled. “I saved you, Cedric, why vould I--”

A bright flash erupted again, so dazzling and blinding that he had to shield his eyes even when had his back to the hilltop. Then, just as suddenly, darkness descended on everything. The voices were gone. A chilling rage pierced the silent night. And, as if by clockwork, the onslaught of spells resumed their assault.

_“Expelliarmus!”_ Cedric caught the wand as it flew from Viktor’s hand.

“Vot are you doing!”

It was him who took the other’s hand this time as they ran into the forest. His heart was racing as he worked his way through the darkness and the tangled roots underneath. Thickets of honeysuckle brushed past him, their thorns nipping at his skin. They were leaving Harry behind, he admitted. Guilt threatened to flood him, but he pushed it away. _We will go back for him. Tell Professor Dumbledore that You-Know-Who is back. Send reinforcements._

“Give me back my wand, Cedric. Ve cannot survive this vid just you,” screamed Viktor above the ruckus. He was still getting dragged through the overgrown bushes.

Ignoring the older boy, he pointed his wand at the branches above. _“Confringo!”_ Heavy branches tumbled down to the ground, creating a makeshift barrier that separated them from the army above. Soot and splinters covered his face, neck and arms--some even went into his mouth. He spat, then turned again, knowing not which direction to go. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves above him. Even then, he could only see a few paces around him.

A rogue bolt punctured through the wall of debris. He felt the grip in his hand loosen. Viktor was lifted from the ground and thrown violently forward deeper into the gloom of the woods.

“No!” He screamed as the shadows swallowed Viktor. There were a muffled thud and the crunch of dried leaves. He scuttled forward to its direction.

His foot caught in an outcrop of rock, sending him tumbling down the slope. Pebbles bit his body, slicing across his hands and arms. A wet warmth flowed down across his chest. His wool sweater ripped as it snagged and tore against the rough forest floor. He propped up his hands, palms digging deep ruts in the soil as he willed himself to stop. Rolling over one last time, he slammed against something, his breath escaping him. Rust and salt burnt in his mouth.

He rolled over to his hands and feet, stomach violently churning, and retched. Tears welled in his eyes. Bitter liquid poured out of him. The world spun. The forest was alive with the din of the Death Eaters as they blast their way through the fallen branches. He wiped his lips with the back of his hands. _Blood. Sweat. Tears. Vomit._

It was Viktor he had rolled into. His cold body lie sideways amidst rotten leaves and strangling roots. Such anger Cedric felt for this man. He wanted to punch him, to inflict more pain than what he imagined Viktor must be going through right now. But, studying the ruin that was his face, the dark splotches of skin that span his shoulder and chest, he found such cruelty not within himself. He blurted out an anguished “Damn you!” instead.

He hooked an arm around him, and in one heave had the older boy swaying limply by his side. Every second felt like years, every step seemed like a leap. He was tired, and truth be told he had no idea what he was doing, or where he was going. A village lay on the far side of the forest, he knew, having had glimpsed, from atop the hill, the bright pinpricks of light that dotted the darkness to the east. Alone, he could make a run for it. But with him lugging Viktor like this?

He could leave the man behind. On his own, he had more chances of escaping. Yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind. _You didn’t need to escape._ If Viktor was with the Death Eaters, he will surely be rewarded for delivering Harry himself to the Dark Lord. Not hunted. Or were they tying up loose ends? He had no answer to that, but all the same, Viktor chose to save him. _Why?_

The ruckus rang louder and nearer. _It won’t matter for too long._ He gently laid Viktor down on the ground, letting go of the questions that lingered in his mind. _It won’t matter now._

Shadows writhed and swayed in the forest as lights flashed and flickered behind. Shouts echoed from above. A bright red bolt cut through his left cheek. The air crackled and there was a sharp odour of decay. Instinctively, he cupped the wound with his hand and felt the warm blood trickle down his palm.

There was no way they would make it out alive.

_This is it. This is the end._ He wondered why he did not feel scared. Nor nervous, even. It felt as if he was a mere viewer, detached and distant, watching the scene unfold in front of him. But he was concerned, not for himself, but for his father. It took years before his father managed to step out of the dark rut he fell into when Cedric’s mother died. _Will he make it out this time around?_ There will be no one to help him anymore. He will be all alone. _Wife and son, both murdered by Death Eaters._

He did not trust his own legs to hold, but somehow they did, and he stood resolute in the middle of the chaos. Calm and ready, he raised his wand.

A touch of skin grazed his ankle. Shadows spun all around him. Leaves crunched under heavy feet. Then there was only darkness and silence.


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst has passed, but the night is not yet finished for Cedric.

 

* * *

Cedric felt like his entire body was going through a tight tube. He was beginning to wonder if he had been hit by a curse when suddenly his feet sank into soft, wet snow. It blinded him, its whiteness a stark contrast to the dimness of the forest he was just lost in a second ago. A cold gust blew from behind.

 _We escaped…_ He trembled at the realization, tears streaming down his face as he fell on his knees. _We escaped!_

“Viktor, we--” But he wasn’t beside him as he was in the forest. Instead, he lay a few feet to Cedric’s right, body sunk deep in inches of dark snow.

_Blood._

Knee-deep snow hindered his movements as he waded to Viktor. In the brightness of the moonlit snow, he could clearly see now the true extent of damage the battle had caused the older boy. The curse that threw him into the forest gloom had hit him in the side. Where once there was a woolen sweater, now it was just a singed hole; where before there was skin, now it was a festering wound so horrid Cedric almost puked again.

Viktor’s torso was black as if burnt. It was stripped of the skin, exposing the raw sinewy muscle that was oozing with blood. The curse ate through the surrounding skin, creeping steadily outwards, while peeling the flesh beneath layer by layer.

Cedric inserted his right hand inside his own sweater, feeling the hard lump inside the secret pocket, but winced as a sharp pain shot from the tip of his hand to this shoulder. Pulling it out, he saw that he, too, was bleeding. His entire hand was covered with blood. What was left of his hand, that is. Pieces of flesh dangled from where two of his fingers and a quarter of his palm were once before. The bones of his knuckles shone white amidst the red tendons in his hand. He screamed in agony as his mind registered the pain that pulsed from his splinch.

He raised his hand over his head to try and slow down the flow of blood. The warm liquid poured down his forearm to his elbow and soaked his sleeves. He groped in the snow for his wand and, once he got hold of it, immediately pointed at the hideous wound. White cloth spurt out the end, swathing the wound in a snug bandage.

Dropping his wand, he pulled out with his left hand a crystal from within his pocket. It glittered in the moonlight, its content sloshing inside. He bit on the cork stopper and pulled with his teeth.

Steam rose as the liquid splashed against Viktor’s torso. In an instant, the blood stopped oozing from the wound, and a translucent pinkish layer formed on the naked flesh, like a finely spun web that stretched across the wound.

The last drop fizzled with a hiss and Cedric tucked the empty crystal into his sweater pocket. The air bloomed with the sweet scent of lavender and cinnamon. He sat back on his knees, happy that the worst seemed over, stomach growling with hunger. _How many hours has it been?_ It seemed years ago when he was just playing with his food at dinner around the Hufflepuff table, all nerves and excitement at the hour that the final challenge begins. Now they’re here, high up on snow-capped peaks and battered by strong winds, hundreds of miles from Hogwarts. _They must be looking for us now,_ he thought, trying to reassure himself. _They’ll see that the Cup is missing, and they will wonder where we all are._

 

Yet he wondered at the chance that the school will even know where the Cup took them. Both he and Viktor had apparated as well, taking them farther from the school. _Where are we, even?_

They stood on a sharp outcrop of rock that jutted towards the night sky like the hilt of a dagger shoved deep into the side of the mountains. Everywhere he looked he saw gentle slopes abruptly ending in plunging ravines and deadly terraces where one misstep can send you diving into your death a hundred feet below. In the distance, nestled snug at the foot of the mountain valley, lay a village. Thickets of pine-dotted the mountainside, some stretching expansive as a forest, some isolated into groups. The precipice they stood on lead to such a forest, the woods growing wild as it sprawled across the mountain.

 _There goes trekking._ The village lay at least a hundred miles from where they were. Though he was warm enough in his sweater, his toes will surely fall off before they get halfway through it. It won’t do to escape from the hands of Death Eaters themselves only to die, freezing. _Besides, Viktor will never make it through like this._

The older man was burning with fever. He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering loudly and breath steaming in the cold air. With a wave of his wand, Cedric conjured a wooden litter that raised Viktor from the wet snow. With another flick, it was levitating, ready for wherever Cedric wanted to take it.

He looked ahead towards the snow-laden pines. Going through another dark forest was the last thing he wanted to do after the ordeal he went through just a few moments ago. But he had no choice.

The trees pressed close on either side of him. Moonlight streamed between the sparse needles on the branches above, shining halfway down the tall pines before melting into the shadows from below. Squirrels scampered along the branches above him. The wind howled eerily and played sounds that unsettled him. Once, he heard what seemed like a growl, and he had paused rooted to the spot. He didn’t hear it again, though, so he shrugged it off and blamed the wind.

_Just find a shelter from the cold. Then I’ll plan how we’ll get out of this damned place._

A few feet in front of him, the ground started sloping downwards. Ice gave way to frozen undergrowth that bristled as he walked on them. Even the pine grew sparser, and he wondered whether they had already made it out to the other side. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and in a moment the gloom that had bathed the forest with a dreamlike quality turned so impenetrable that chills ran across his back. No sound stirred except for his ragged breathing. He clutched at Viktor, finding solace at the warmth emanating from his skin. _I’m not going mad._

Raising his wand, he said, _“Lumos.”_ A wink of light flashed in his periphery. _Icicles?_ Yet as he scanned the surrounding branches nearby, he found no hint of ice hanging from them. Steadily, he walked towards the source, his ears straining for any sound.

His eyes went wide as he stepped into the clearing: in the middle of a circular enclosure formed by the pine, a wooden cabin stood. The orb of light floating above him had glinted off its windows.

The house itself was tall to the point that it looked _stretched._ The main facade was two stories of high walls punctuated by a steep roof. The entire cabin’s symmetry only added to its vertically long appearance, with the left and right wings seemingly squashed into the sides. It would have been a very comical house had it not for the colour of its walls: a dark blue hue, the grain of the wood the deepest black. Solid and domineering, Cedric can’t help but quickly avert his eyes downwards as he glanced upwards to its roof. _Like a hunched grotesque creature glaring down on me._

Yet in truth, it was far from grotesque. Every inch of the house’s exterior, upon closer inspection, was carved with twisting vines and their varied fruits and flowers: grapes, squashes, bitter gourds, melons, orchids, hydrangeas. They curled around the columns supporting the awning over the patio, even around each of the pegs of the balustrades, on the door, and overhead on the ceiling itself -- like a petrified orchard married to the wood.

 _Pity that it has fallen to ruin._ Part of the patio’s roof has collapsed into the patio itself, snow piling high in a thick mound on the stone platform. The door creaked as he opened it. _It’s not locked?_ A warm gust welcomed him as if the house was sighing, breathing out the stagnant air that has settled in its insides. He stepped inside, lugging Viktor’s bulk carefully.

The moon slipped out, then, its light streaming through the murky windows. It cast a panel of light that ran across the floor and up the walls.

_“Nox.”_

When outside it looked arresting, inside was completely different. It was cozy--homely, even. A marble fireplace stood opposite the door. The vine motif was present there still: leaves crawled up and around the mantelpiece like a nest of fire and charcoal. A long couch, its frame gilded with gold and its plush seat made of a heavy fabric with an ornate pattern, was to his left. In front of it was a low wooden coffee table that rose up to his knee. Opposite were two smaller chairs in a similar fashion as the couch.

He laid Viktor to rest on the couch and began attending to him. From under his sweater, he pulled out a chain necklace. At the end of it hung a small cloth pouch like a pendant. It clinked slightly as he pulled the chain over his head. A special pouch he had enchanted, it carried numerous herbs and powders: shrivelfig, dittany, mandrake root, toadstool, wolfsbane--all relatively common, admittedly. The rarer ones he had collected over the years were kept hidden in his dorm room back in Hogwarts. Inside were also glass vials, sets of pewter tools and utensils, and miniature scales. He carried it everywhere since the beginning of the Tournament as a sort of first aid kit of ready-to-brew potions. _Let’s hope this will be enough for the task at hand._

With a fluid flick of his wand, he deftly cut Viktor’s sweater off. In the moonlight, Viktor’s skin had an eerily ghostly complexion, but even in the relative dimness, Cedric can still see his toned muscles. He had a wide chest, chiseled and strong. His abdomen was flat and firm, the valleys of his rippling abs made even more distinct by the light. A dark pool of fine hair trailed down suggestively to underneath his pants. His torso was damp with sweat, making his muscles glisten under the shimmering light.

 _Where to start?_ An indicative bruise and lump on Viktor’s right side, below his rib cage _(Episkey!)_ ; numerous cuts and the horrid open wound at his neck (a healing salve of dittany and warm broth of the same herb: “Simple enough”); paleness due to blood loss (Blood-replenishing potion, “For the both of us,” at the sight of his own mutilated hand); bruising (snow, which were plentiful).

He pulled open the strings of the pouch and prepared himself for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed this chapter because I had to research about magical herbs and whatnot. 
> 
> Reviews are very much welcome! :)


	3. The Trial of Viktor Krum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is confronted by Cedric, and it does not end well.

* * *

Viktor felt a throbbing pain in his left side, like a pulsing bead that was sending small waves underneath his skin. At times it felt like an intense vibration and he had to catch his breath to try and reel the pain in, only for it to suddenly subside into a more steady and rhythmic pulse that he can tolerate better. His eyes were closed and he thought maybe he was just dreaming the pain, that he was still asleep in his bed in the quarters of the Durmstrang ship.

Through his eyelids, there were flashes of light, and he saw vague outlines and shadows that stirred then disappeared. There was a smell of burning wood in the air and his face was grimy with ash and dirt.

He realised then that he was holding someone’s hand. It was cold and soft, but the grip was firm against his own.

It was a woman’s.

She was shivering, her palms clammy with sweat. In his mind’s eye, he saw her: brunette hair, pale face, slender neck. “Let us go! Please--”

He could not see, but he was sure there was another with them, too. A man, standing a few feet from them. Stern. Resolute. Yet frantic. The air was heavy with fear, urgency, pleading--and danger. He knew he had to leave. So he clung to the woman and gripped her hand tightly. “I don’t want this anymore!”

He descended into darkness, but the woman was not with him.

He felt soft sheets on top of him. A dull, steady pain was in his side, but it was less intense than he remembered. It was cold, and his head felt extremely heavy. He tried to open his eyes, but there was a heaviness in his left eye that forced it shut. He managed to open the right one and, from under eyelids heavy with sleep, gazed around at his surroundings.

A huge window spanned the wall opposite him, by his feet. Snow was gently falling against its wide panes. Through the glass murky with grime, he saw dark, cloudy skies. He could not tell if it was dawn or dusk.

A fire was crackling brightly from above his head. Light and shadow danced and writhed on the opposite wall, presenting a hypnotic display that almost brought him back to sleep. _The warmth of the fire. The softness of the blanket against my stomach...my stomach?_

It slowly dawned on him how naked he was underneath the sheets. Except for his underwear, he had no shirt nor pants. He opened his eye once more and strained to get a better understanding of where he is. The place looked familiar, but he could not be sure under the limited light of the fire. Blinking away the last tendrils of sleep, he slowly sat up, his body feeling sore and stiff from long hours of reclining. A chill crawled across his naked body, and he snuggled the blankets closer to him.

The woman in his dreams swam back in his mind. _Who is she?_ The fear he had felt lingered with him, a fright he had never felt before. _What does it mean?_

He swung his legs and felt the cold, dusty floor against his bare feet. Clutching the couch, he stood up, steadying himself on legs that felt like lead. _Where am I?_

Opposite him, descending by a small set of stairs, was a study. Shelves filled with books stood against its walls, in their midst a wide oak desk. Behind him was a winding staircase that led to the second storey above. There was a balcony on the second landing, and from where Viktor stood he could partially see the rooms upstairs. Every fixture was covered with a fine layer of dust, but aside from that the house was in great order.

The sheets trailed behind him like a cloak as he stepped into the study. Screwed to the stone wall in between the bookshelves were empty braziers, their candles unlit. Below were narrow windows deeply set in the thick stone. Rondels of opalescent glass adorned the panes: shades of deep green, turquoise, brown, and aquamarine interspaced with milky white. They bathed the room with slivers of iridescent light.

He pulled a thick, yellowed tome from one of the shelves and set it down with a thud on the desk. Dust rose in a rush, swaying in the air as it caught the fading (or waking?) sunlight. It would have been a mesmerising scene had it not made Viktor bend over with a bout of coughing. The book’s label read, in straight block letters, _Horticulture For All Ages._ He flicked it open with a finger between the crinkling pages. A hand-drawn illustration of a gardening set-up was scrawled across the sheets. He read through some of the words written underneath, his brow creasing in confusion at the unfamiliar terms. _Zinc. Nitrogen. Iron--That, I know._ He grabbed another book. _Gun Ownership_.

_Where am I?_

A voice came from behind him. “You’re awake.”

He turned, surprised. _Cedric._ “Vhere are ve?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. You brought us here, remember?”

 _I brought us here?_  “I--I don’t understand.” His words came out in a slur, his voice thick from lack of use. _How long was I asleep?_ The light threw shades of green and blue over Cedric, making him look like a kingly merman in his underwater realm. Yet even in the dimness, Viktor could see the dark circles underneath his eyes. He looked tired. But the same fieriness he had seen before in the graveyard still burnt in him.

“You have questions,” said Viktor, remembering how Cedric had reacted in the graveyard. He grabbed the chair from behind the desk and slowly seated himself, trying to hide the pain throbbing in his side.

“We can deal with them later.” Cedric waved a dismissive hand. “Right now, you need to rest.” Cedric took a step forward across the threshold of the study to assist him back to the couch.

He raised a hand and Cedric stopped halfway to him. “I’d prefer ve deal vid them _now.”_ It came out more bluntly as he liked, yet he did not care. _I almost died for this man, yet he accused me of being a criminal._

For a moment they stared at each other, him unrelenting and the other reluctant. With a sigh, Cedric sat down opposite him, gaze now steely and features a hardened mask. There was a brief pause again where all that could be heard was the faint crackling of the fireplace.

“What happened in the maze?” Cedric began.

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“You expect me to believe that? That you somehow accidentally just tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse and brought Harry and me to You-Know-Who himself?”

Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. _I tortured him?_ He strained to remember, but his head felt like it was filled with wet flour. “There vos a man...in the maze.”

A man’s face floated in front of him. _Someone from Hogwarts...what was his name?_ “Moody. Mad-Eye Moody.”

“ _Professor_ Moody?”

He nodded, then instantly regretted it. The twang of pain in his neck was so intense that he had to catch his breath. “I--I think I vos imperiused. I can vaguely recall vot I did but…” he shut his eye as if to clear it off the fogginess, to no avail. “I tortured you?”

Cedric eyed him testily, then gave a curt agreement.

“I vosn’t aware. I...forgive me. I believe I vos imperiused. The spell must have broken ven ve got to the graveyard. The next thing I remember after the maze vos us standing on that hill.”

The mask Cedric wore was gone, replaced by a creased brow deep in thought. “Professor Moody is a faculty member. Chosen by Dumbledore himself. He was an auror, even, from the Ministry of Magic. Why would he…?”

“I don’t know. I can’t answer for him nor the Ministry.”

And just as suddenly Cedric’s face was steel again. “You left Harry behind.”

It almost choked him, being reminded of what they had to do to survive. _I didn’t wish for that to happen. But what choice did I have?_ “Did you think ve stood a chance to those Death Eaters? Ve barely got out, and even then ve escaped _almost_ whole,” he pointed at the bandaged stump of a hand Cedric had. Three fingers stood awkwardly angled among rolls and rolls of white cloth. Cedric made a move to hide it but stopped himself midway. “My plan vos to go to the village on the other side. To get help from anyone, or at least notify Dunvledore.”

“Was that even a magical village?”

“A village whose graveyard is decorated by hippogriffs and phoenixes is meant to be a vizarding one. And _ve_ left Harry behind. It’s not just me who is in here.”

Cedric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. _Maybe I should let off a bit. He has every right to be suspicious of me, but still..._

He sighed. “I vanted to save him, I swear. But you saw how many Death Eaters there ver. I took you vid me because I _could_ save you. I could not just leave you behind.”

“You saved me because I am your token of innocence,” Cedric sharply replied. “It would be easier for you to redeem yourself with me in tow. _Alive._ And your account of the story would have been more believable.”

He felt his eyebrow twitch in contempt _._ “I do not need a token nor redemption. And even if I did, I’m not stupid enough to make the mistake of bringing you, the sole witness, vid me. You know exactly vot happened. You even know more than me. Bringing you back vid me vid your knowledge of vot I did in the maze vould only weaken my _account_ , as you put it, or demolish it completely.”

“That’s why you brought me here. To give you time to erase my memory.”

He sniggered, croaky and harsh from long hours of sleep. “You are far too smart for your own good, Diggory. Unfortunately for you, I am not as clever as you think I am to think of such schemes.”

“But you certainly are powerful enough. I saw what you did to those Death Eaters.”

His mind recalled the battle that ensued on the hill, how he simultaneously fought three Death Eaters to the death. He had enchanted a weeping stone angel to fight for him. It had swung the chains it was holding in a wide arc over its head, and in one fell sweep crushed the three under the heavy weight. The sound of their bones cracking was still sharp in his ears.

“Vould you rather have me sing them to sleep?” _If I had not done what I did, I would not have saved you._

Cedric continued, “It’s your word against the chance that I am right. So forgive me if I’m a bit suspicious of you.” Cedric regarded him coolly. “You are accusing a _professor_ of manipulating you; the same professor who has dedicated his life to fighting Death Eaters, the one who even _taught_ us a proper defence against their dark arts. While you--” Cedric’s anger was flaring now, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “You have always been Karkaroff’s favourite. That’s plain for everyone to see. And it’s also no secret that Igor Karkaroff _was_ a Death Eater.”

The comment took him off guard, but he dared not show it to Cedric. “Ve are not the company ve keep, Diggory.”

“On the contrary, I tend to learn more about a person based on the friends he surrounds himself with.”

“Karkaroff is _not_ a friend. He is manipulative, yes. But he only attached himself to me because he is egotistical as he is insecure.”

“And you? Why did you attach yourself to him?”

“I--” He found himself unable to answer. He has been under Karkaroff’s wing for years, but not once did he thought of the answer to this question. Or did he know already, only that he was too scared to face it?

His reluctance seemed to be all that Cedric needed. “You will face your crimes as soon as we get back to Hogwarts.”

His fists clenched tight under the desk, his jaw gritted hard. A sharp stab of pain burnt in his side, but he bit his tongue. “I escaped _from_ them, Diggory. Isn’t that proof enough that I am _not_ a Death Eater?”

There was a brief pause as Cedric’s eyes drifted to stare out the windows, unseeing. “Then they must be holding something against you.”

“Vould you listen to yourself? How far vill you stretch the story you’ve made for yourself just to mistrust me? I told you, I vos imperiused by Moody!”

“You are implicating an auror from the Ministry _itself!_ ”

“Because it’s the truth!” His fist slammed against the tabletop, the loud thud echoing in the silent cottage. The brusqueness made Cedric flinch, and he felt a sense of triumph over being able to break the grating composure of the other in accusing him. “I don’t know vot hand the Ministry had in the Dark Lord’s return. But won’t you admit that the Tournament had been _off_ this whole time? A _boy_ got in, and out of all the underage students of your school, it vos _Harry_. Somebody tampered vid the Cup as vell and--” A dizziness took him, then. He lay his head in the palms of his hand as he willed the spinning to stop.

With a weaker voice than he would have liked, Viktor said, at length, “I put my own life on the line for you, Diggory. Why can’t you believe me?”

The squeak of the chair skidding against the floor signalled that Cedric had left. He followed him with his eye as he disappeared into a doorway beside the fireplace. Reclining back on his seat, he noticed he was trembling. _Why am I so angry?_ Opinions of him have always been divisive, he had learned over the years. Adoration and love abound in the Quidditch field and under the limelight, but without? ‘ _Too Brooding and quiet.’_ He’s no stranger to people being suspicious of him. And somehow he had appreciated that, even wanted it more. _That way, people back off._

Then why was this affecting him so much?

“I am not a Death Eater,” he grumbled under his breath.


	4. Hung Jury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric and Viktor forge an alliance, but can they truly overlook the animosity they felt for each other?

* * *

The kitchen was bathed in the dim light of dusk when Cedric stepped in.  _ I didn’t want to do this until later. Much, much later.  _ Questions, he had. But the last thing in Cedric’s mind right now was a lengthy, heated argument. He had offered Viktor rest as an excuse to postpone the conversation, yet in truth, it was him who needed it more. Weariness weighed heavy on his entire body. He had spent the entire night brewing potions and cleaning up after Viktor and him. 

Making the salve had been easy enough: dittany leaves and a sprinkling of nettle mashed together with a cup of honey. He used the same ingredients, with the addition of knotgrass and the substitution of simple water for honey, to make a warm solution in which he had soaked his wounded hand for hours. The necessary ingredients to fully regrow his missing fingers were lacking, so he had settled with just closing the wounds. The pain had kept him up the entire night, which had been helpful, in hindsight. It had been the Blood-Replenishing Potion that proved tricky to make. The ingredients were abundant enough in the pouch he carried, but the turning and stirring and cooling needed to be precise and well-timed. A wink of sleep could have transformed the potion’s purpose to the exact opposite.

Afterwards, he had applied the salve generously all over Viktor’s and his wounds. Viktor had groaned and twitched at the sting the paste brought. He had been gentle enough,  _ but if I had known how sharp his tongue is, I would have jabbed the paste inside the wounds themselves.  _ Sighing, he closed his eyes; he couldn’t blame Viktor entirely for being so scathing: being labelled as a Death Eater wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

Viktor had said a lot to process, and he wished he had really insisted on postponing the conversation. He wasn’t exactly at his sharpest. Even now, with nothing but the soothing silence of the kitchen and the lulling crackling of the fire in the hearth in the next room, he found it difficult to think.  _ The Ministry and the Dark Lord… _

His father’s voice rang fleeting in his head.

“I have worked long in the Ministry, and the people around me were my friends as much as they were my colleagues. But the War...war transforms people, Ced.” His father began, finally responding to Cedric after years and years of asking for stories about the First Wizarding War. He was only a boy of eleven, then, back from Hogwarts for the Holidays.

“The Ministry was filled with strangers, then. Ghosts with familiar faces. You couldn’t trust anyone. Manipulation was at the heart of the Dark Lord’s reign, and you never know if the one seated beside you was plotting your murder because he was imperiused, or because he’s bargaining for the lives of his children, or because he just wants a slice of what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was offering.”

In truth, he wanted to know about the story not for the war itself, but for what it did to his  _ mother.  _ He had asked relentlessly, whimsically, only to learn that there’s nothing fanciful about the tale. He realised then the gravity of his wish: for his father to look back. ‘ _ She was a kind woman, Cedric, and you took a lot from her…’ _

_ I’m not like her, dad. Mum believed in the kindness of strangers. I can’t even believe the guy who saved me.  _ He shook from his head the remainder of the memory, not wanting to relive it now.  _ The War is done, and my mother has gone with it. But we may all have to face the same circumstances in the future. _

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and the Wizarding World must be warned, or else more people will die. Defenceless.

Dreadful as it was, he forced himself to the idea:  _ if Harry is gone, then the task falls on Viktor and me. And if I am right about Viktor, then-- _

“The truth will die with me,” he whispered, his breath frosting in the chilly air.

_ If I’m wrong, then I’m a stubborn knucklehead and Viktor can scorn me forever. But if I’m right? The lives of hundreds. _

It was an exchange he was more than willing to make.

He did not trust Viktor, and the animosity the other felt for him was palpable enough. But no matter how much he hated to admit it, he needed Viktor. 

_ I should have taken the Apparition Class.  _

He needed Viktor on his side if he wanted to get back to Hogwarts to warn everybody. Steeling his resolve, he grabbed a pan from inside the cupboards and set about to cooking. “Potato stew sounds like a good enough peace-offering.”

Stars were nowhere to be found in the dark expanse of the night sky. The moon had hidden as well tonight, and outside the window the world was a blanket of black and grey. Snow was rolling from between the gap underneath the front door, only to melt into a puddle as the warmth of the fire greeted it. 

Cedric laid the bowls with a soft clink against the table. The aroma of the herbs made his mouth water and filled the air with the sweet calming scent of dittany, nettle, garlic and ginger. The soft-boiled potatoes bobbing playfully in the warm broth teased him, but he knew he had to wait before he can wolf everything down. Viktor was staring at the steaming bowls in front of him as well. He slowly raised an unbandaged eye to Cedric as the younger boy plumped down on the couch opposite.  _ It’s his turn to be suspicious of me now, I guess,  _ Cedric thought.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Viktor raised a thick eyebrow. “Is this a bribe, then?” He pointed at the broth.

He ignored the jest and continued. “I don’t trust you,” he said bluntly. “And so far you’ve given me no cause to do so.”

“I saved yo--”

“Would you let me finish?”

Viktor bit down his tongue, his mouth tight as a line. A vein near his jaw was twitching as he worked his temper down.

“I’ve told you enough of my thoughts to show you why I am suspicious of you, why I still doubt the sincerity of your actions. Whether you are innocent or not remains to be seen. Until then I would keep my guard up.”

“Vot is your proposition, then?” Viktor asked impatiently.

“Take us to Hogsmeade. And in exchange I’ll help you prove your innocence--if you’re telling the truth.”

“I don’t need your help to prove anything because I  _ am _ innocent. I don’t even need you as a token or as redemption. I could just leave you here and be done vid it. Dunvledore probably has more sense than you do, and I won’t hesitate to show him my memories or chugging down a Veritaserum if I need to. So forgive me if I don’t see how this is a fair deal.”

He sighed. He did not know why, but somehow he half-expected Viktor would be more relenting.  _ I guess the food does not smell appetising enough. _

Shrugging, he took a wand out from of his pocket and laid it neatly on his knees. It was thick, quite heavy, and rigid to the touch. It extended almost a foot, but a bit shorter than Cedric’s own. Shiny with wood polish, it was obviously well taken care of. 

Recognition lit Viktor’s face, but it soon darkened.  _ I feel so deplorable for doing this, but I have no choice.  _ “You can’t apparate out of this place without your wand.”

“So this is blackmail, then.” Viktor picked a spoon and dropped it ceremoniously into the bowl, sending hot broth splashing all over the table. “Why won’t you believe me?”

_ I want to, Viktor. Desperately. I want you to be right so I can finally get some sleep without fearing for my life. But if I’m wrong, and I let my guard down… _ “The truth will die with me,” he murmured to himself. Aloud, he said, “If you’re telling the truth, then you will agree and you should not have any qualms with taking us to Hogsmeade.”

Massaging his neck, Viktor slumped deeper into the soft couch, wincing slightly as he did so. The blanket draped around his shoulders parted slightly, exposing a pale violet bruise underneath that spread across his chest like a splotch of ink. It reminded Cedric how strong Viktor was, both magically and physically.  _ He couldn’t hurt me with just his bare hands, given how injured he is. _ Clutching the wand tighter in his hands, he thought,  _ this, however, he cannot have. _

The anger was gone in Viktor’s eye when he opened it. A curious twinkle was in it instead, and it made Cedric uncomfortable. He could not put a finger on it, but something about Viktor changed. And it made him warier. 

Grabbing the bowl from the table, Viktor filled a spoonful, blew on the steaming soup, and sipped. He nibbled at a potato before saying, “Is it really an agreement if I don’t have a choice?”

Cedric took that as consent enough. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, “We’ll disapparate from here as soon as you’re well enough. Until then, I’ll tend to you as best as I could.”  _ As I have already done, you ungrateful bastard. _

“I have one request, although I fear you vill not find it satisfactory.”

“What is it?” Cedric’s stomach had been growling madly in the last few minutes, and he was eager to start on his meal already. He was reaching for his bowl when Viktor got to it with a sudden swipe.

“These are both mine.”


	5. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strain between Cedric and Viktor’s relationship reaches its climax.

* * *

The weather had turned for the worst by the time Cedric stepped out of the woods, an hour or two past noon. Yet by the dimness of his surroundings, it was difficult to say that it was actually daytime. Overhead, thick undulating clouds spanned from horizon to horizon, blurring the outlines of the mountains and melting them and the sky itself into a dome of murky grey. Chunks of heavy, wet snow pelted him, drenching him from head to toe. He was beginning to lose the feeling from his fingers and toes, and his teeth clattered from the chill.

More than once he was reminded of how bad an idea it was to fashion cloaks out of blankets and table linens. Piles and piles of cloth were tied around his neck like an oversized cape that made him look like a kid playing at being a superhero. When he set out shortly after noon to hunt, it made him warm. The sky was a bright blue then, with streaks of white and barely a sombre cloud in sight. Back then, he could not help but feel a bit smug at his resourcefulness. But now he cursed it. Wet, it was heavy, and already twice he stepped on them, sending him sprawled deep in inches of snow. 

The chill was seeping into his bones as he waded through frozen ground to the cabin. Everything was not in vain, though. He took consolation at the game that hung limply in his hand: a squirrel and a fox. 

He stepped onto the ruined deck of the house and pushed the door open. His cloak landed with a wet slop against the floor as he untied it around his neck. The fire was high and warm in the fireplace, and in a few strides, he was kneeling in front of it, hands clasping each other as he breathed warm air between them.

_ Why is it quiet?  _

He had left the cabin to the sound of the slither of paper against paper as Viktor relentlessly flipped through the pages of the books that lay neatly stacked on the shelves. The books themselves rose in a pile on the desk, but Viktor was nowhere to be found. 

His eyes darted around the cabin, ears prickling for any sound. Viktor was physically strong even without a wand. 

Wand clutched, he whispered, “ _ Homenum Revelio.”  _ A thud and a muffled “Ow!” came from upstairs.

Cedric slowly and quietly ascended the stairs. The second-story landing opened to a carpeted living room with a couch and a lot of throw pillows. To his left was a wide corridor that led to the bedrooms. He heard a shuffling in one of the rooms to his right, and carefully walked towards it with his wand raised.

“Step out, or I will stun you.”

A silence followed. He grew more restless, then.  _ What is he planning to do? _

“I will not ask again, Krum. If you don’t--”

The door clicked open and Viktor stepped out, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Sweat shone faintly on the nape of his neck, and Viktor himself was panting slightly. He was clutching at the sheet with one hand, obviously trying to hide his wound.  _ Or something else? _

“What were you doing in there?” Asked Cedric. 

Viktor’s unbandaged eye was half-shut in loathing veiled as disinterest. Face expressionless, his real emotions apparent with his clenched fist holding onto the sheet. He only stared at the end of Cedric’s wand pointed squarely at his chest. 

“What were you doing in there?” Cedric repeated, trying not to buckle under the piercing gaze of the other.

Viktor sighed, opened the door and took a step back. “See for yourself,” he said, sounding almost bored.

The room was spacious, well-furnished and airy. It must have looked elegant and posh, yet the years had left the Victorian wallpaper peeling, the wood panelling rotting. Some of the windows were already broken, letting in the chilly gusts from outside.

A canopy hung above a huge bed frame in the middle of the room, its flimsy drapery tied around the poles. Its moth-eaten mattress, however, was leaning on a wall, a few feet away from its designated position. 

Cabinets stood empty of their drawers, their contents upended and discarded in heaps all across the floor: vases and bowls, books and diaries, thin wooden sticks, porcelain cups and pieces of cloth. Even the desk at the foot of the bed had been dismantled.

Viktor had slipped quietly into the room.

“Did you do this?” 

There was no response.

Cedric pointed his wand back again towards Viktor. He was beginning to lose his temper, and he was growing tired of the petty games the other was playing.  _ Why would anyone act like this if they were innocent?  _

_ “What. Were. You. Doing. Here?” _ A couple of red sparks flew out of Cedric’s wand.

Viktor gritted his teeth but answered. “Nothing. I vos bored and I wanted to explore the house. Is that a crime, Diggory?”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed into slits. He waved his wand towards the blanket Viktor was huddling under. “What are you hiding underneath?”

“I am  _ naked _ underneath this. Or do you want a peek?” He chided drily.

With a flick of his wrist, Cedric sent the blanket sliding off Viktor’s shoulders. He had worn pants, Cedric saw, but his sweater was too frayed and torn to be able to bring any warmth. His chest, a map of purple and red bruises, glistened with sweat. Viktor looked indignant at the sudden intrusion, but stood his ground and silently scowled down at him. His hands were clenched tightly into fists; in his right, he held a piece of stick.

Cedric extended his palm and signalled for Viktor to hand over the piece of wood. At first, he thought it was a shard of a wand, but it was too smooth and straight to be a broken fragment of anything. A dark point was at one end, a soft, blunt stub at the other; too dull to be used as a weapon. 

“What is this?” Cedric asked.

“It’s…a quill. Except it does not need an ink.”

Cedric’s eyebrows rose incredulously, prompting Viktor to explain himself further. Momentarily forgetting the anger he felt, Viktor grabbed a discarded diary from the floor and tore a page, then handed it to him.

“You can write vid it. You don’t need to dip it in ink. Try it. It’s  _ magical. _ ” He took a step forward, and Cedric hastily raised his wand again. The look of anger replaced itself back on Viktor’s face.

“Why do you need this?”

“As a gift, from me to you. Your company has afforded me nothing but happiness and joy. So sweet and so gracious that I long to be  _ away from it.”  _ He picked up the blanket from the floor and stormed out the door.

“We’re not done, Viktor--” Cedric bumped face first into Viktor’s back. 

“Vot did I ever do to you to make you mistrust me so much?” 

“What?”

“You’re so  _ certain  _ in your judgment of me, but you don’t even know me,” said Viktor, his back still on him.

“I know enough to make me wary. And wise.”

“Wisdom, is that vot you call it?”

Viktor turned then to face him, and in the older man’s eyes, he saw something that roused his guilt. Pain.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I had as much cause to doubt you, back in that graveyard? Yet I chose to take you vid me. You vouldn’t be standing here, Diggory, if I had only been wise.”

Viktor limped down the stairs, leaving him to stand on his own in the dark hallway. The splinters of the broken stick dug into his palm, but his mind could not register the pain yet. He let the pieces fall through his fingers, then ran after Viktor.

“Take us back, then. Right now,” he shouted. “Prove me wrong, once and for all.” He took Viktor’s wand out of his pocket and strode down the stairs. The older man had seated himself on the couch with a resigned, almost pouty look on his face.

Cedric thrust the opposite end of the wand towards him. “Take it and get us out of here. You’re clearly well enough to be chucking drawers and lifting mattresses.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on the wand for a long time, but he did not take it. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You hate me so much it must feel good to be finally able to show me how wrong I am.”

Viktor chuckled without humour. “For someone famous for being kind, you sure always seem to see the worst in people.”

_ Blind faith and kindness are two very different things.  _ He would have said it out loud, but he was growing tired of all the verbal sparring they were putting themselves in. The wand remained extended towards Viktor.

Still, he did not take it. “I cannot apparate out of here.”

“What?”

“Ve are not in Scotland anymore. The Cup took us very far from Hogvarts.”

“But you told me--”

“I lied.”

Viktor said it in a whisper, but the words rang loudly enough in Cedric’s ears. 

_ Is this a trick? _

Quickly pulling back his outstretched hand, he sat down the couch opposite and studied Viktor’s face for any hint of mischief. “You apparated us here,” he said testily.

“Yes. And I’m still trying to understand how that came to be. I did not lie to you when I said that I do not know this place.” Cedric raised an eyebrow in disbelief and Viktor hastily added, “My guess is the Cup took us to England. And I think ve are still in England right now. Have you taken Apparation Classes?”

The question seemed so out of the blue that Cedric got distracted from his anger. He shook his head.

“There are physical limitations to apparition. From the graveyard, this place vos near enough to apparate to. And so we did. But travelling back to Hogsmeade means cross-country apparation, and that can be  _ lethal. _ ”

The room felt colder and heavier, then, as if the roof had suddenly collapsed and crushed them both under a heavy slab of ice and snow. There was nothing but the sound of his heart ramming in his chest. He had to walk away and lean on the mantelpiece for support. The fire did nothing to warm his insides.

Viktor said, “But I have an idea. Just give me time--”

_ “Incarcerous.” _ Strings of rope came spurting out of Cedric’s wand and tied themselves around Viktor’s wrists, ankles and thighs.

Viktor hissed sharply as the rope cut tight against his skin. He fell down sideways on the couch, twitching like a fish out of water. “Vot the hell, Diggory! Let me out of this, I am not a Death Eater!”

“Your lie makes it very difficult for me to believe that,” he replied coolly, not turning to face Viktor, worried that his face might betray the look of panic rattling him.

They were trapped. He had exhausted all other options he could think of. Trekking in the snow will freeze them to death. Creating a portkey was far too complicated. Once he had even thought of attacking a muggle just so that the Ministry can send aurors to him, and then he’ll explain his peculiar predicament and hope that they see the sense in it. It was too far-fetched, as even game was difficult to find in the forest. His faith he placed on Viktor and Viktor alone, for how else could he hope to go back to Hogwarts? 

“You were so good at making me feel bad that I almost gave you your wand. Would you have erased my memory then?”

“But I did not take it ven I could have,” Viktor replied firmly. “I am not your enemy, Cedric. Just let me out of this then let’s look for a way  _ together. _ ”

“Why did you lie then?” he rounded on Viktor and resumed his seat. “You could have told me from the very beginning. And we even made a deal!” He said, his voice full of reproach.

He watched as Viktor fumbled with his words, and almost laughed when the older man said, “Just trust me.” Viktor looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it.

“Do you even realise what your lie cost you?” He approached Viktor and with a harsh swipe removed the blanket draped over his shoulder, exposing the wound. It was not the same dull pink it was a day before. Now, it was more reddish, moist with what seemed like blood and water. “I don’t have a powerful healing potion anymore, and you’re still not fully healed. And you’ve been gallivanting and tossing things!”

He sighed, frustrated and confused. He was more convinced now that Viktor was not all he claimed to be, yet still unsure if being a Death Eater was one of those. Admittedly, the other had the chance to do worse things than obliviating his memories. And if Viktor was lying about being unable to apparate, he had more to suffer for staying here longer.

_ It makes absolutely no sense. _

“Who are you, Viktor?”

There was a pause where they only stared at each other. For the first time, the mask of confidence and dominance Viktor has always worn was gone. He looks lost.

Viktor swallowed and said, “Vill you let me out of this if I promise to tell you?”


	6. The Cabin in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor shares his suspicions about the mysterious cabin and its owner.

* * *

_ What do I tell him? _

It has always been hellish, for someone like Viktor, to talk about himself, because there was nothing to talk about. He was not being honest with himself, in truth, because surely there were plenty about him that was interesting. He was a professional Quidditch player, after all, the youngest seeker in history.

But these were all after  _ before _ , and  _ before _ just would not be interesting for him. It was not pride that prompted him to shun who he was when he was young. Nor disgust to who he was compared to what he has achieved now. It was  _ shame _ . He has never opened up about it to anyone. Not even to his friends in Durmstrang, or to his teammates in the Bulgarian team. Nor to Karkaroff, who Cedric seemed to think his guardian.

And he does not plan on doing it now, especially not to someone who had tied him like a pig for slaughter.

“Stay still, please. I have to be really gentle about this.” The ropes binding him were gone and Cedric had taken to tending to his wounds with a sickly sweet paste.

It was not really hatred he felt for the younger man, he realised then. Admittedly, the self-assured accusations and the sneaky glances grated at his nerves and annoyed him endlessly. As if he was up to something sinister. As if he was the cruellest man Cedric had ever met.

They reminded him of  _ before _ , and that was something he has tried for so long to smother.

_ I am not a cruel man. _

The sharp crack of bones under a heavy chain. The low moan that escaped lips as life slowly ebbed. Did he revel in it? In the death of three people, Death Eaters they might be?

_ It was necessary to save Cedric _ .

Was not Cedric a mere afterthought, a person he just managed to pass by on the way to the forest?

_ I am not a cruel man. _

Cedric’s fingers were gentle and soft as they trailed over the cuts that marked his face. They lingered over his lips, dabbing the salve in slow strokes, then on the swelling on his left eye. There was a crease on Cedric’s forehead as he moved about, a determination that furrowed his wild eyebrows and burnt in his deep-set eyes. In the limited light of the fire, the colour of his irises was reduced to a mere black. But as Cedric stooped down, Viktor saw that they were grey, framed by long, fine lashes. When he blinked it seemed to almost touched his cheeks, fluttering across the smooth, pale skin.

Cedric did  _ care _ for him even if he thought Viktor was a criminal.

_ Maybe he deserves to know? _

“You know, I’m still waiting for you to start on your story.”

_ Am I ready to let someone else know? _

The answer was plain.  _ No. _ It was a mistake to use his past as a bargaining chip, in the first place. So what will he tell Cedric? He needed a distraction from answering the other’s question, and at the same time, they both need to find a way to get back to Hogwarts.

The solution to both came so naturally to him that he wondered if he was not as scheming as he claimed he was.

He slipped a faded photo from inside his pocket and handed it to Cedric, who took it with a suspicious gaze.

It was an unmoving photo of a woman. She was beautiful, elegant with her slender neck and long hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Round almond eyes, thick eyebrows and full lips; she looked the same age as Viktor, but already there was a regal air in how she posed for the camera. Around her pale neck was a necklace with a small pendant.

“Who’s she?” Cedric inquired.

“I found it in one of those books.” He pointed at the pile of volumes in the study, “I think she’s the owner of this cabin.”

Cedric looked at him, not knowing what to say exactly. 

He continued, “I think there’s floo powder somewhere in this house.”

At that, Cedric raised his eyebrows in disbelief. His eyes were studying Viktor’s face, as he often did whenever Viktor says something incredulous. It was the same searching gaze that angered him so many times in the past few days, the same accusatory look. 

He watched Cedric as his mouth worked on what he was to say in reply. Carefully, Cedric said, “This is a muggle house, Viktor.”

“Vot makes you say that?”

Cedric blinked a few times but patiently explained. “You’ve explored the house, I take it?” He nodded, and Cedric continued. “Then you’ve seen the kitchen where there’s an actual stove. No self-heating cauldrons nor pans. And the books. You cleaned out the shelves yourself, you must have seen that they were  _ muggle _ books.”

He knew all that, but somehow there was a creeping voice in his head that was certain that this house had a touch of magic in it.  _ The woman in my dreams held a  _ wand.

“What makes you think that this is a wizarding house?” Asked Cedric, throwing his question back at him.

“Did you see any tracks leading to the cabin?”

Cedric paused, biting his lip in contemplation. “No, but I assumed they were just buried under the snow. Or, you know, they just  _ disappeared _ . I’m guessing it’s been a long while since anybody’s been here. It’s not exactly in tip-top shape.” He peered outside at the collapsed roof of the deck.

“Do you know about snowmobiles, the one muggles use to travel on this kind of terrain?”

Cedric shook his head, his eyebrows going farther up his forehead.

The words came rushing out his mouth, “Just think of them as cars--you know those, right?--except smaller. Have you seen any in a garage anyvhere? Or a garage, in the first place? How do you think vould she even get here?”

Alright, he was scrambling. He did not exactly have the time to wrap his head around his suspicions about this place.  _ The woman in my dreams held a wand _ , he repeated. 

“Vot about the enchanted quill I found?”

A guilty look flitted across Cedric’s face, and he looked sheepish when he said, “I...I don’t know. I mean, if it was magical, why haven’t we heard of it already? It’s so practical, now that I think about it. A quill without an ink. And yet this is the first time I’ve ever seen something like that.”

He exhaled, frustration building inside him. There must be proof here somewhere. There must be something that linked the woman in his dreams to the woman in the photo.

“Just...just let me look for floo powder. There must be something in the rooms upstairs.”

“Is that what you’ve been looking for all this time?”

“Yes,” he lied. He was looking for anything magical, not exactly floo powder. The idea that this house was connected to the floo network popped in his mind the same time he said it, and somehow in his ramblings, he started to believe himself.  _ There must be something. _

Cedric was staring at the ceiling, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor. He huffed, then looked Viktor straight in the eye. “You know if you’re wrong about this then we would have wasted time instead of thinking about more probable ways of leaving this place.” He prodded at the wound in Viktor’s side and earned a wince from him. “You’re not getting better, Krum. You’re getting  _ worse. _ We need to think of a way back or else you’ll--” he swallowed, unable to continue.

“I know,” he replied, “And my life is not something I wager lightly.”

“Three hours,” Cedric declared. “If I do not find anything in three hours, we’re dropping the floo network.”

He nodded and made a move to stand. Cedric laid a firm hand against his chest, pushing down.

“I said _ ‘I.’   _ You, on the other hand, will stay here and rest. Will you respect our  _ deal _ this time, or should I bind you to this couch?”

He gave a curt nod. Cedric walked up the stairs.


	7. Hall of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is not sure if his vision had been a mere dream. Would it have scared him less, if it was?

* * *

The wind howled as it meandered its way around the cavernous hall. A carpet lay across the entire length of it, moth-eaten and singed. Its edges curled frayed and rotting. From the odd patches of colour on its surface, Viktor assumed that it used to have a vibrant weave, but long years of people trampling over it has faded its design into mere browns and greys.

Outside were the voices of children happily playing in the spring sun. He turned to it, wanting to escape from the emptiness of the long corridor he was in, only to find the wooden door barred. He tugged and pushed and pulled, slammed his hands and shouted his voice raw. But not an inch did the door move.  _ They’re on the other side,  _ he thought.  _ They should hear me! _

He wondered at how weak he had become, how thin and high his voice had turned.  _ I’m a child again.  _ His hands were smaller, softer. Gone were the callouses from years and years of Quidditch training. He was beardless, as well, and somehow he resented that the most. He had sported a beard to make himself look stronger.  _ Now I am weak again. _

Sobbing, he turned from the door to face the only other option he had. Snot dripped from his nose, and he wiped it timidly with the back of his hand, the sticky liquid smearing across his hairless arm. Gingerly he walked forward, the carpet muffling his footsteps. He was strangely thankful for that.  _ There is something terrible in the walls. _ And he did not want to wake it.

An arch leading to a room opened to his right, and as he passed it he peeked inside. Grass stretched from the doorway to the far, far end of the room. He had no idea where it ended. It grew on every inch of the floor, bristling and swaying as the wind swept over it. A smile crept on his lips and he wanted to step into the wide grassland, to curl his toes in the soft soil and to soak his cold body in the warm sun. But something urged him onwards and he had to walk away, dismayed.

The next door was to his left. This one was closed. From behind it, he heard bangs and sizzles. It creaked and shook every time the ruckus echoed from within. The smell of smoke and something putrid wafted from the space between the door and the floor, seeped from the gaps around the hinges and the walls. Wary, he did not approach it and moved forward farther. The noise had almost died down to a murmur when another door rose to his left. It looked the same as the one before and Viktor began to wonder if he had been going in circles. 

There was a click and the door knob turned. He jumped as a man and a woman walked out. Tired and old, their faces were gaunt, the skin barely clinging to the bones underneath. It shocked him, but what unsettled him the most were their eyes. The whites of their eyes glow in stark contrast to the greyness of their face. Like saucers against the crevices of their jagged faces, they were wide with fear and confusion. There was a malevolence in them that he deeply disliked, and a part of him wanted to lash out at them. Soon they were gone in the shadows, and he lost the chance to scream at them. Something creaked, and his head jolted towards the sound. Before the door closed, he saw, in the shortest of glimpses, a young boy, barely ten years old. The door closed with a click, and Viktor moved on.

It seemed like many years, and he thought the hall unending. The wind still howled all around him, sweeping his hair across his forehead, blowing his collar upright against his nape. No door appeared, so he marched forward vigilantly.  _ I am strong again. _ His strides grew wider every step he took, and the ceiling sloped down towards him. He could almost reach it now if he stretched his arms.  _ I am myself again. _

Another door appeared, this time to his right. It was worn and rickety, barely hanging on the rusting hinges. The wind blew it open as he passed, and inside he saw a jungle of old wardrobes, faded paintings and empty frames, and mouldy rolls of rugs and linen.  _ An attic. _ In the middle of it all, under a flickering dome of light emanating from a lamp, sat a boy, much younger than the one he had glimpsed earlier. He was poring over an open book in his lap. Viktor stepped towards him, his hand reaching out to the doorknob. “Hey,” he almost called out, when suddenly there was a muffled thud from his left.

Turning, he saw another door a few paces from where he stood. The corridor ended abruptly to this one final door, and Viktor was confused why he had not noticed it before. He pushed and shoved, all muscle and strength, and felt the heavy doors part slowly. Grunting, he leant with one leg outstretched behind him, the carpet pooling around his foot as he mustered all his power. The door opened enough to let him through. The wind almost seemed to screech as it suddenly found the narrow passage. He sidled through the gap and found himself staring down at a crying child. He imagined he very much looked the same when he was the one sobbing in front of the door at the beginning of the corridor. But for one difference. 

_ This boy has a wand. _

“Viktor!” A hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. He woke with his hands grasping for something, reaching out into the empty air. Cedric soothed him with a cold cup of water to his lips. He hadn’t realised how parched he was and he drank the cool water eagerly. The pain in his stomach shot through him like a hundred dull knives sinking into his flesh. It took all he can not to choke on the water in his mouth. With a groan, his nails dug deep into Cedric’s hand. He waited with bated breath as the pain died down.

His head swam and often he felt as if his entire body was suddenly on fire, then drenched in ice, then set afire again. Snatches of the visions he just had floated in his mind, but they were too flimsy to hold onto for much too long. It wasn’t the dream he wanted to have. It was the woman he had hoped to see again when he slept.

“You have a fever,” Cedric whispered. Or was it only in his head, and Cedric had really shouted? The younger man was covered in soot. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, sweat glistened in beads on his neck. He was fussing over him like a mother to a child, drying the fever sweats that clung to his skin and piling blankets to stifle the chills that made his teeth rattle.  _ He is kind. _

_ How long have I slept?  _ He was looking for something, he remembered now.  _ Something important. _ There was a soft clink and Cedric held a jar to his eyes.

“How did you know we’ll find this here?” The grey eyes were made of steel again, guarded, suspicious. He liked them better when they were poring over his face.

“Find vot?” His voice asked.

“Floo Powder.”

_ He is crazy, as well. _ “This is a muggle house, Cedric.” 

“Fuck,” cursed Cedric. “Alright, we need to get you out of here.” He felt an arm shoved under his shoulder blades. His own was flung across Cedric’s neck. As he sat up, a pain lanced through his side and he threw up. Bitter bile lingered in his mouth and he spat. His legs were sacks of cloth filled with mush, dragged under him by the man beside him. 

_ “Scourgify.” _

The fire burnt bright, yellow wisps dancing with scarlet petals. It soothed his pains, eased the cold. But it was cut short, for it turned green and his refuge became dread.  _ Morsmordre…! _

“No!” He heard himself say. He tried to squirm, but he was too weak. The fire was around them. Emerald swords bit his feet and crawled to his waist. “No!” 

“Madam Rosmerta, Three Broomsticks.”

The green snakes slithered up to his neck, enveloping him in a cold haze of smoke and light.  _ Maĭka!  _ There was a flurry of bright and dark, and Viktor knew no more.


	8. Mad-Eye Moody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair makes it back to Hogsmeade to be greeted by a familiar face with an unfamiliar past.

* * *

A puff of smoke and ash choked Cedric as he stepped out of the fireplace. The room was dark, and a warm breeze was blowing through the open window to the right. Their arrival must have been quite loud, as suddenly the inn seemed alive with the protestations of about a dozen rudely-awakened guests. There was a soft stirring outside the door, a quiet patter of footsteps, then the inn was silent again. 

Cedric heaved the unconscious Viktor beside him towards the door. His hand was barely on the knob when the door burst open. 

“Come here, boys. We need to get back to the castle immediately.” Professor Mad-Eye Moody stank of alcohol and sweat. In the darkness of the corridor, Cedric could barely make out the rough features of his face. Having a professor greet them should have given him relief, but the mechanical whir of the glass eye as it spun wildly in its socket did nothing but unsettle him. 

“Professor? How did you know--”

“Did you arrive with anyone else?” Mad-Eye’s tone was gruff. He was so huge that he had to stoop under the frame to get into the room.

“It’s just us, Professor,” replied Cedric, swallowing a lump that was beginning to form in his throat. The glass eye was quiet now, settling its gaze on Cedric and the unconscious man beside him. 

“Good.” 

_ Good? _

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Two wands came flipping through the air and landed with a wooden clunk in Mad-Eye’s outstretched palm. Cedric’s mouth dropped in confusion, only to be forced shut as Moody uttered  _ “Silencio.” _ He felt his throat constrict, the only sounds escaping him reduced to dry gasps and squeaks.

His breath came out of him in a silent huff as a heavy fist collided to his stomach. Moody grabbed a handful of Viktor’s hair and threw him carelessly to the other side of the room. He rounded on him next where he knelt bent over the pain in his gut.  _ What…? _

“You must have a lot of questions running through your mind right now, don’t you, boy?” A resounding slap caught Cedric by the cheek, and he fell bodily beside the bed. “Do you even know who I am, boy?” Mad-Eye’s lips curled in a vicious snarl. “Who I really am?” He curled his fingers around Cedric’s pale neck and squeezed. Cedric reached up to try and loosen the iron-like grip, but his fingers were too feeble and his arms too weak. Stars were already dancing in his eyes when suddenly the hand released and he fell wheezing for air.

“I am his most loyal servant, one of the few who elected to suffer in Azkaban and in the hands of his enemies, rather than admit defeat and be a turncoat. Oh, I fought my own family for the Dark Lord,” snarled Mad-Eye, “killed my father, even. His name brought  _ shame _ to the Dark Lord’s legacy. But I’ll raise it back to purity!”

A heavy boot crashed against Cedric’s face and he heard a bone snap. Blood ran in a stream from his nose and his mouth. The room spun as he reached out to look for support. His hands clutched the bed frame for a while, before hastily being crushed under a shoe. 

“For the entire year, I hated this body. Who would have thought I will finally find a fitting purpose for it?” Mad-Eye grabbed Cedric by the hair. “It was made for this,” he said, as another slap cut across Cedric’s face. He let go and Cedric fell in a heap of pain on the wooden floor. 

He tried to scream, knowing that a dozen warm bodies lay sleeping just outside this room. But there was no sound that escaped his lips, save for the gurgle of blood as he sputtered and gasped for air.

The lumbering man strode off to the other side of the room and picked up his wand from the cabinet beside the door, while Cedric listened in silence at his disjointed tirade. 

“Must I do everything?” He snarled at no one in particular. “For the entire year I planned. Waited. Stuck in this gruesome form. And I delivered Potter to him, didn’t I?  _ Didn’t I?”  _ His whispers were filled with anguish. Spittle spewed from his mouth. “I should have been the one to see him come alive again. But instead, it was  _ them.  _ The pathetic, cowardly lot of  _ them!”  _ His shoulders began to shake in fury. The glass eye spun, shrill and grating.

“And  _ they  _ made  _ me _ stay to deal with their incompetence! It’s not just the boy they let escape, but both of you as well.” His wand sliced through the air, pointed at them both.

Even in the face of danger, utterly defenceless and bleeding, Cedric breathed a sigh of relief.  _ Harry is alive. He has warned every one of You-Know-Who’s return.  _ But something tugged at the back of his mind. Something was not quite right.  _ Why does this impostor need to stay? _

The man laughed, low and raspy and malevolent. He seemed to have heard Cedric’s unspoken question. “The boy sleeps, so that is fortunate. My lord’s return remains a secret to his enemies.”

He walked to where Cedric lie. The tip of his wand sank painfully on Cedric’s forehead. “And it will remain that way.

_ “Crucio.” _

Red-hot iron slipped between his skin and his flesh. His head seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces, only to reform then break again. And again. And again. Cedric wasn’t sure how long it lasted. All he could remember was the popping of his bones as his body spasmed with the pain that coursed through him, the rattling of his body against the wooden floor as he flailed in silent agony. His teeth snapped. His fingers curled. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

It was the most frightful sleep he has ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. I'm just itching to tie up all the knots and start with the second arc of the story already.


End file.
